


Choosing Meaning

by sikillgard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:16:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sikillgard/pseuds/sikillgard
Summary: When she's separated from her party at the crossroads, the Inquisitor confronts the Dread Wolf alone.
Relationships: Lavellan & Solas





	Choosing Meaning

_Help me save the world._

“Solas." She called out.

The fur wreathed figure on top of the stone steps did not turn around. His wolf-skin collar seemed too big for the slim neck that she knew he possessed. His magic doesn't compare to his figure either, for they were expansive arcs of energy wrapped around an eluvian bigger than anything she’s seen before. The spell itself was larger than any weaving Abigail had ever seen.

_Save our people._

“Fen-Harel,” Abigail whispered.

The person in the distance paused, hands mid-cast.

“Inquisitor.” Syllables of an act of greeting sent signals deep within her to reignite lost rushes of blood. It was a feeling she feared now more than ever.

The person in the distance seemed to be waiting for a response, and Lavellan realized that she had frozen. She raised her blood-dripped double-bladed axe and shouted. “Fen-Harel!” She hoarsely challenged. It took too much of an effort for her liking, especially at this stage of the adventure.

Gods, an adventure? When was the last time she thought it was one?

He took his time to respond. “You have bared your arms against an unoffending stranger. What is your intention?” His words rang with hidden intent.

“You have to stop.” Somewhere, the battle-cry of Cassandra echoed throughout the Crossroad, and the clipped shouts of Qunari shock troopers hounded in response. A terrible clash continued out of sight of them both. “You need to be stopped.”

“Must I? How would you force me to remain and listen?” It's like the start of one of his lectures. Always pushing her, always challenging.

“I’m going to swing this axe and split you in half if you don't stop casting that spell right now."

Fen-Harel turned his head left to look at the blasted broken land beyond them. She could see from the side of his face that he was smiling. “Good, you’ve certainly gotten better at aggressive negotiations.”

“There were good friends to help with that,” she said, “friends that never left me.” She later regretted those words, but at the moment any words against him were what she wanted.

“That is good to hear.” He didn’t seem to take notice, but she didn’t expect him to. “We can talk, we have time.” With a wave of his hand, the spell he was weaving dissipated with a soft murmur, carefully set aside for another time.

Lavellan did not lower her axe. "I didn't come here to talk."

"Neither did I, but this is far better than having to kill you, don't you think?"

There was a moment of silence. "You didn't mean that," said Lavellan.

"And yet you were prepared to kill me when you stepped onto this island when you stepped through the eluvian from the beginning if I felt it correctly. Just a moment ago you declared that you were ready to strike me down with all your might. Why shouldn't I defend myself?" He faced her now, turning away from the eluvian.

"I don't need to kill you, just have to take you in."

The Dread Wolf smiled. "Inquisitor, I know you. Taking prisoners is not your style."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Abigail tightened her grip.

"I am saying that either you or I will die before this is over." The figure in front of her said no more. Abigail didn't move.

"You didn't mean that," she repeated with a murmur.

"You're a killer, Inquisitor. You've always known violence. Tell me - has anyone you ever killed stopped believing in doing what they think was best?"

"Are you one of them, Fen-Harel?”

“Yes,” he instantly responded. “I am. So if you don’t want what’s about to happen, please, turn around.”

Instead, Lavellan wordlessly stepped forward, knees bent for a dash and arms tensed just before the swing. She got not more than three steps before the mark on her hand flared again. The pain, already unimaginable, was paralyzing to the point that she dropped her battle-axe with a cry and fell to her knees. She couldn’t think of anything else other than the pain.

The only thing that occurred on the other side was a sigh.

“Inquisitor,” said the god. “You still need to work on knowing when to give up.” She could feel the vibrations of combat as the ground shook in response to the battle between her retinue and the Qunari. It’s nothing compared to the reverberations that her arm is emanating. It’s as if the mark wants to tear itself off.

“Think I'll stop now?” She fought to speak the words.

“You know who I am, so you know what I want to do.” The fur-wrapped elf raised a hand, inspecting the sparks of divine power dancing on his fingers. “And you know why as well.”

“Just because the world's broken…”

“No, not just because the world is broken, but you are as well, including everyone else.” Was it her imagination or was there something different to his voice? “What is broken cannot be saved, but remade instead. _I_ can remake the world, Inquisitor, remake it into one that’s worth saving.” He sounded so hopeful, so utterly confident of his words. _So this is divinity_. Abigail thought amidst the haze of pain.

Fighting to hold back tears, she pulled back her lips. A hint of hollow despondency hides under the sneer. “So that’s it? I’m supposed to just let it happen?"

“I am not unaware of the sacrifice I’m asking you to make.”

“You’re saying that Iron Bull died for nothing.”

“Fighting for your loved ones will always be worth something.”

“ _I have been fighting for everyone my entire fucking life_!” 

From the depths of pain were all her feelings resurfacing in an explosion of emotions. All the reasons, all the justifications for her to push it aside for the greater good and numb the horrors of war rushing back into her dizzy mind.

There were no more clangs of steel, no more shouts for death and mayhem. "No more," said the elf, barely a whisper. The otherworldly air of the crossroads magnified the words to a reverb echoing all around her. He raised his voice. "I will not wait any longer. The feet I use to tread this earth will step no further than I must to break it." He turned his head towards her at an angle. The sadness in his next words brings fresh waves of pain inside Abigail. "And I will not watch you tear yourself apart trying to save it."

He doesn't know she was already tearing, already torn apart. What he was seeing was her just trying to pick up the pieces. Abigail shook her head violently, vehemently denying his words. "No." Was all she could manage. "No." She tried to move again, tried to stand up under the onrush of crystal pain pinning her blasted body down. She tried to push her legs, shift them beyond the tidal wave of exhaustion, beyond the powers of what belief did and has already done. The island was coming alive with the energy emanating from the mark, power that Abigail desperately craves right at this very singular moment.

On top of the step, in front of the luminescent eluvian, Solas burrowed his eyebrows lower on top of his elven eyes. “Your fight has ended, Abigail.”

She tried to move again. She’s trying so hard.

“Your cause would have been repeated by people better and stronger than you, just as you had with your forebearers. Their children and grandchildren, all capable exemplars of the modern race, would have known the song and dance you face, left behind in the unending ages that should have been their right to partake.”

She wanted to scream at him, wanted him to step closer so she could grip his throat and shake him from his madness. She wanted to tear from him the eldritch thoughts that made him at once terrifyingly strange and strangely familiar. But all she could do now is to grip her shaking arm, the pulsating green vein of that was no longer her salvation or anyone for that matter.

“I have to do this, it is the only way. I _will_ save our people."

She couldn’t look at him anymore. All she can see is the death in front of her reaching a fever pitch. Everything is a blur behind the tears.

“I'm sorry it had to be you."

It hurts so much.

The swirls of ethereal phantasma in Abigail's vision seemed to shift, moving from an indecipherable pattern into one direction with a singular purpose. The indescribable scream in her head responded to the change as if answering a distant call, shifting its grip on her from a crushing vice into a choking wringer. Abigail couldn't tell which was worse. The pressure expanded across her whole body and compressed her from top to bottom until all sensation is reduced to a small echo.

Then it released her, as suddenly as it happened. Abigail at first felt nothing. Then she realized how sweet nothing felt. A wave of relief washed through her as she recognized a sense of peace that she had forgotten ever since she stepping into the eluvian. Then she looked up.

Solas’s eyes gazed less than a meter from her, burning a terrible blue. Stars of otherworldly magic whipped around his figure, whirling and clashing against the power pouring from the Herald's mark. They bobbed and weaved around each other like a million little dancers intermixing into a chaos of brilliant bright lights, growing faster and faster as Solas stepped down to where Abigail knelt. When he lowered himself so that their eyes met centimetres away, she could see the waxing and waning of the terrible power behind his. The closer he got, the faster the dancing stars, until they crescendoed into an inseparable frenzy. Solas cupped the cheeks of her face with one elven hand, and Abigail could feel the warm skin caressing her, so fragile, so lovingly soft, so _normal_. Tears flowed freely.

Then, with his other hand, the Fen-Harel clutched the outstretched arm that shouldn’t and had never belong to her. Abigail had one moment to register the surprise and then the horror that gripped her. But it was too late because Solas pressed his face towards her where their lips touched and he simultaneously pulled—


End file.
